


Booby Trap

by SaintVier



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Accidental Ambush, Antiva, Assassination, Dry Humping, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Post-Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-06 17:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11605143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintVier/pseuds/SaintVier
Summary: The Warden goes to Antiva to reunite with Zevran after a long separation. Takes place after the events of the Awakening DLC.





	1. Chapter 1

A frigid breeze wafted into the compact room, nestled high in a stone tower. Through the open window, sounds of clanging pots and rowdy celebration were faintly discernable in the bleak morning air as the Keep began to wake up. Inside the room, the only sounds were the scuffling of clothing and equipment being hurriedly stuffed into bags, as the inhabitant packed away his last few stray belongings. He paused to look out the window, gazing down at the awakening citizens with an impassive expression on his pale, regal face. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a weathered letter, strongly creased from many foldings and unfoldings, and read it with the same stoic expression. The letter was concise, barely covering half a page, but the words were elegantly scrawled with the dangerous grace of an assassin. But the Warden knew this all very well: he had read the letter so many times he had committed every word to memory. His face then split into a grin, small at first but widening as he slung his pack over his shoulder, slung a massive greatsword over his shoulder, and left the room with a spring in his step. Whistling a merry tune, the Warden strode off into the corridors and tucked the note safely back into his pocket, not before pressing his lips to the signature on the page and carefully folding it back into place.  _ I have an elf to find. _

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oi, boss, you’d better not be leaving. without sayin’ a proper goodbye to your old pal Oghren, eh?” The stocky dwarf tottered over, his face nearly as ruddy as his disheveled beard. The Warden halted in his tracks and smiled.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I see you’re already making the most of the celebrations, despite it being, ah, an hour past daybreak?” The Warden gestured towards the half-empty flask the dwarf drunkenly grasped in his stout fingers.

 

“Sod it, we didn’t just stop one Blight, we stopped two! I’ll be celebrating for the rest of my sodding life at this rate.”

 

The Warden smiled fondly at his ruddy-faced companion. “I reckon we’ve both earned it. Don't celebrate too hard, though—we don't want to upset your delicate constitution.”

 

“My  _ delicate— _ arrgh, you're a real nughumper.”

 

“I always have been fond of nugs,” the Warden said with a wry smile, eliciting a chuckle out of the dwarf. Oghren stroked his beard and squinted up at the Warden with an unreadable expression.

 

“...So you’re really leaving, huh? Gonna go find that poncy elf of yours? Oh, don’t even say it, I can see it in your dreamy maiden expression, you fuckin’ nughumper.” The Warden simply grinned wider, saying nothing to dispute this statement.

 

“I’ll miss you too, Oghren. And you’re one to talk, as I heard you’re running off to find your wife and be a father to your child. A real family man, you.”

 

“Argh, you got me there.” Oghren seemed to sober a bit, giving his beard an absent stroke. “Here’s to new beginnings then, eh?”

 

“To new beginnings.” 

 

Oghren raised his flask and poured a hearty amount into his gullet. The Warden, having nothing to toast with, made do with clasping his friend’s burly shoulder and exchanging a gaze that he hoped conveyed more gratitude than words ever could.  _ Not a farewell, but a new beginning. _

 

The Warden then made his way to the gates of the Keep, saying his farewells to the inhabitants as he left. Some bowed as he walked past them, while others called out joyfully, “Praise the Warden Commander!” Wade the blacksmith rushed over to press a pair of red drakeskin gloves into the Warden’s hands (“Certainly not my best work, I could have made them much finer if you hadn’t decided to suddenly  _ leave _ , you foolish man”), while Seneschal Varel simply shook his hand fondly (“I do wish you’d stay, but I suppose we’ll be able to handle matters without our Warden Commander now that the Blight’s over, bless the Maker”). But the departure wasn't a particularly emotional one. After all, save for Oghren, the Warden’s closest companions had already said their goodbyes, with Velanna and Nathaniel running off to the woods together, Sigrun returning to the Deep Roads for her Calling, and Anders mysteriously disappearing. 

 

“There’s nothing left for me here,” he had tried to explain to the seneschal the previous day. “I’m no longer needed and...I have business elsewhere.”

 

Finally, the Warden saddled his horse, rode through the gates, and left Vigil’s Keep for the last time. Looking over his shoulder, he observed nostalgically the chunky stone towers, accompanied by the clamor and rising smoke of the townspeoples’ morning routines. He could distantly hear Voldrik the stonemason violently yelling at workers as they rebuilt the damaged portions of the wall. “ _ They’ll all be alright,”  _ he thought. He noted that they were already well on the road to recovery, and were in good hands. “ _ And I reckon I’ve done enough Warden Commander-ing for a lifetime.” _ And so, with a grin and a hand clutching protectively to the letter in his breast pocket, the Warden brought his horse to a gallop and rode away from yet another crazy, life-threatening, and wildly fantastic chapter of his life. 

 

“ _ I’m coming, Zevran.” _

_ \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _

Antiva city was bustling with noise and people, despite the sweltering heat of the afternoon sun beating down. As the Warden’s boat approached, he began to make out the dirty grime caking the docks and the sweaty fishmongers shouting at each other in rapid-fire Antivan. But to the Warden, it was the happiest sight in the world. “ _ Maker, I hate boats,”  _ he thought. After three weeks of being crowded in tight, damp quarters with three other humans and a particularly smelly dwarf, he would quite honestly be happy docking to a cave full of hungry ogres. As soon as the ship boarded, the Warden rushed as fast as his wobbly legs could take him to the center of the fish market, and nearly laughed out loud at the joy of being on blissful, solid, unmoving ground.

 

Immediately upon stepping off the dock the Warden was bombarded with the scents of fish, sweat, and sickly sweet perfume as people jostled into him from all angles. A group of grimy streets orphans bolted past him as they chased after a rather harassed looking cat, just as Quince would often chase after birds and deer in their adventures. The thought of his beloved mabari hound filled the Warden with a pang of sadness. But then again, if everything went well, they would be reunited in a matter of weeks, except this time with a certain Antivan elf accompanying him as well.

 

Making his way to a less crowded area of the docks, the Warden was reminded that he in fact had no idea where Zevran was actually staying, other than the vague knowledge of an apartment by the tanning district. After a number of wrong turns and a particularly uncomfortable encounter with a troupe of Antivan prostitutes (thank the Maker for the excuse of language barriers), he found a tavern owner who spoke in limited Fereldan who directed him to the tanning district. As thanks (certainly not for personal enjoyment), the Warden also bought a bottle of the tavern’s most expensive wine.

 

The building the Warden was directed to turned out to be a blocky, grimy wooden apartment complex, wedged between a large warehouse and a few suspiciously dark and dirty shops. The Warden nearly gagged at the overpowering stench of tanning leathers that wafted over with every breeze. In the adjacent alleyway, a ragged beggar appeared to be having a heated conversation with the wall. “Nice part of town you’re living in, Zev,” the Warden coughed to himself, fanning the air in an attempt to ward off a particularly putrid waft of tanning leather. It was late, hours past daybreak, but the Warden recalled Zevran telling him about the active night life of Antiva. He strode through the unlocked door, running up the rickety stairs to the fourth floor with barely contained excitement. Sounds of couples arguing and dogs aggressively barking penetrated the thin walls, but the Warden barely noticed. At last he made it to the correct door. Suddenly it all seemed unreal; the prospect of being reunited with his lover after so many long months was too good to be true. But the Warden took a shaky breath, and knocked three times.

 

There was a pause. 

 

“Come in,” came a muffled call, and sweet Andraste, hearing that smooth Antivan lilt was the best thing that had happened to the Warden in months. He opened the door with trembling hands, and then–

 

Three things happened, very quickly.

 

The Warden entered the room and squinted in the sudden darkness. Then there was a faint  _ voosh _ sound, like an arrow being released from a bow, and a sudden strangled curse, “ _ Mierda, duck!”  _ And only years of acting with lightning-fast reflexes made the Warden crouch down in time to feel a rush of wind pass over his head– _ thwack.  _ A heavy dart landed in the door behind him, directly where his head had been a half-second earlier. 

 

“Warden?” The bewildered voice broke the stunned silence, coming from somewhere near the middle of the room.

 

“Zevran? What the fuck!” The Warden squinted in the darkness, panting and clutching his greatsword out of reflex. “Was that a booby trap? This is the welcome I get after six months?” He gestured wildly at the dart behind him. 

 

“I–this wasn’t intended for you, you weren’t supposed to be here for another month, what–”

 

“Yeah, I thought I’d surprise you, give this whole romance thing a shot, but clearly you had other plans!” the Warden shouted, vaguely aware of his voice booming in the small room. He heard the clatter of a weapon being dropped hastily, and the patter of feet approaching.

 

“Ah, yes, clearly I failed the first time I attempted to assassinate you, so I thought I’d re-swear my allegiance to the Crows and set another trap. What a shame I failed once again.” Zevran’s face was faintly discernable in the darkness, a few paces from the Warden’s own.

 

“You bastard.”

 

“I can’t argue with you on that.” Zevran’s expression had turned into a wide, gleeful grin, and the Warden couldn’t for the life of him remain angry.

 

Not when he was being accosted by a lithe, glowing elf’s angular golden gaze, and his full lips slightly upturned half in shock and half in mirth.

 

“Fuck, Zev, you’re beautiful,” the Warden breathed, striding forward to claim Zevran’s smirking lips.

 

“I can’t argue with that eith– _ wait, mierda, stop!” _

 

Zevran’s warning was too late, and the Warden went flailing forwards, colliding painfully with Zevran on the way and bringing them both down to the ground with a hard thunk. The Warden could only sputter in shock.

 

“Ahh yes, tripwire. I forgot to tell you,” Zevran groaned from his position pinned beneath the Warden on the floor. “Please don’t kill me,” he added, observing the Warden’s murderous eyes a few inches from his own. The Warden opened and closed his mouth a few times.

 

“Tripwire,” he stated flatly. He felt Zevran’s body tense below him, likely the result of years of training telling him to prepare for a fight. But then the Warden let his head drop to Zevran’s shoulder and began to laugh, weakly at first and then heartily; great, deep laughs full of mirth and shaking both of their bodies. Zevran too began to laugh, somewhat breathlessly, unpinning his arms to wrap around the Warden’s back, and then the room was full of the sound of their uninhibited laughter. The Warden eventually brought his face up to meet Zevran’s, tears streaming from his mirthful eyes.

 

“This is becoming something of a theme for us, isn’t it,” the Warden choked out, grinning down at the elf’s laughing face.

 

“What, me attempting to kill you, failing miserably, and then having fantastic sex? I should hope so,” said Zevran.

 

The Warden simply shook his head, half out of exasperation and half out of the sheer, joyful disbelief of finally being reunited. Then he fondly slid a stray lock of blond hair out of the elf’s smirking face and kissed him, strong and deep. Zevran moaned softly in response, moving his hands to clutch at the back of the Warden’s neck and matching the firm passion of the Warden’s kiss with his own fire and subtle skill. He pushed past the pliant lips with his tongue and deftly entered the hot wetness of the Warden’s mouth, causing the human to let out a loud moan. The Warden then moved his hands to tangle in Zevran’s hair, a familiar hot urgency stirring in his abdomen as he began to impatiently move his body on top of the elf’s. 

 

“Six months, Zevran. Six fucking months,” he growled into the elf’s pointed ear, bucking his hips into Zevran’s. Zevran groaned at the stimulating contact, unconsciously pressing his own groin into the hard relief of the Warden’s muscled thigh. The kiss was hot and messy, as the Warden pressed his tongue into Zevran’s mouth with wanton desire. “ _ At this rate, I'm not going to last much longer,”  _ he thought wryly.

 

“Warden, Warden, stop for a moment,” Zevran panted. The Warden moaned petulantly in response, but Zevran was adamant, forcing the man to roll off of him and sit up. “While this dry-humping on the floor business is very, ah, Fereldan, you must remember we are in Antiva now, and here we do things more... _ elegantly.”  _ Zevran’s smooth and seductive drawl was only slightly ruined by his breathless panting and the disarrayed state of his hair. 

 

“Oh? And all those fancy things you got me to do back in Eamon’s estate weren’t your idea of  _ elegant _ ?” the Warden retorted. Zevran’s answering gaze was dark and almost predatory, making the Warden shiver unconsciously.

 

“Oh, shush and come to bed, you spoiled Fereldan princeling,” the elf replied in a haughty drawl belied only slightly by his arousal of his tented leather breeches. Zevran pulled the Warden to his feet and led him through the darkness to sit on the edge of his bed. The Warden waited with bated breath as the elf lit a lamp, finally illuminating the dark room. 

“What?” Zevran laughed, in response to the Warden’s obvious stare.

“You're beautiful,” the Warden replied, unabashed. He reached out to gently grasp Zevran’s wrist and softly rubbed the golden-brown skin with his thumb. “I missed you.”

Zevran didn't reply (the Warden didn't expect him to) but his playful smirk did turn into a more tender, genuine smile; the kind only displayed in rare moments of intimacy, for the Warden’s eyes alone. He cupped the Warden’s jaw in his hands and climbed into the bed so that he was straddling the Warden’s lap, making him let out a barely discernible exhalation. Then, with softened eyes, he gently pushed the Warden to lie supine on the blankets, before climbing on top of him and pinning his hips down with his own.

 

“I think it’s time you had a proper Antivan welcome,  _ mi amor.” _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: graphic violence and (mostly) unresolved sexual tension ;)

The elf bent over to claim the Warden’s lips in his own. The Warden shuddered and wound his hands in Zevran’s silken locks, which elicited a playful rumble from the elf’s throat.  _ Maker’s breath, _ the Warden thought in a haze of pleasure.  _ Maker, I’ve missed this. _

Zevran shifted his hips down to straddle the Warden’s thighs (the resulting friction causing both to let out strangled moans) and moved his attention to his lover’s neck. With a grace unique to Zevran, he nimbly undid the lacings of the Warden’s shirt while simultaneously laving his neck with his tongue. When the travel-worn tunic was open, Zevran slowly moved his mouth down the Warden’s bared abdomen, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to his collarbone and sternum. When he reached the Warden’s muscular chest, he stopped at his nipple and traced a slow, teasing circle with his tongue, making the Warden tense under his ministrations.

“Fuck, Zev, I forgot you were such a tease,” the Warden said with gritted teeth, his words somewhat disrupted by certain,  _ interesting _ things the elf was doing with his tongue.

Zevran glanced up and grinned wickedly. “Oh yes? And I forgot how very...fulfilling it is to tease you,” he drawled languidly, knowing exactly how his words would irritate the Warden. Before the human could retaliate, he darted up to reclaim his mouth in a messy, dizzying kiss. This didn’t sit well with the Warden, however, as he growled into the kiss and swiftly flipped them over so that he was pinning the elf’s body with his own.

The elf let out a huff of breath and gazed up at the Warden’s dark eyes with a mixture of shock and delight at the shift in power. He started to let out a breathless laugh before being consumed by the Warden’s mouth crushing his own. The human pushed up the hem of his light Antivan tunic and ran large, battle-hardened hands up his torso while entwining their mouths with hot, wet surges of his tongue. He felt a dark thrill at the needy moan the elf let out when he withdrew his mouth and pushed himself up to support himself on an elbow. But he only broke the contact for a moment to pull Zevran’s tunic over his head and roughly discard his own, before returning to straddle the elf’s hips and resume the kiss. They both groaned into the kiss at the new sensation of skin against skin.

All of Zevran’s teasing intentions were swiftly forgotten as the Warden shifted his hips and rocked against the elf’s groin,  _ hard. _

“ _ Ah,” _ the elf gasped, reflexively tightening his grasp in the human’s dark hair. The Warden groaned in response, unable to form a coherent thought as he continued to grind against Zevran’s crotch through the too-thick material of their breeches. All of his fantasies, his memories of past intimacies with Zevran that had kept him going through the worst of the past months, were nothing compared to the real thing. Zevran seemed to agree.

“ _ Sweet Andraste, _ ” the Warden choked out as Zevran nimbly slid his fingers underneath his pants and smallclothes to cup his cock in his hand. He rocked into Zevran’s firm grasp with fervor, as they both panted hot breaths into each other’s mouths.  _ Well, this isn't going to last very long,  _ the Warden thought in the back of his mind.

Unfortunately, the Warden’s prediction proved to be true, though not in the way either lover anticipated. They were suddenly interrupted by three harsh knocks at the door, making the Warden jump and break away from the elf with a start. He looked at Zevran in confusion, and saw the elf’s eyes widen as he cursed in Antivan. Zevran let his head fall back on the pillow and shut his eyes, as if willing the stranger to disappear. The Warden began to catch on.

“Zevran?” the Warden said slowly, with measured breath. The elf’s mouth twitched in response.

“Those traps you set...I imagine you were expecting someone to come tonight and activate them? Someone who isn't me?”

Zevran groaned and nodded with a pained expression on his face as he said, “I don't suppose she'll just—” The stranger knocked again, three harsh knocks. “—leave...no, I see she won't.” With a beleaguered sigh, he pushed the Warden off of him and retrieved his daggers from the nightstand.

“ _ Mierda, _ I do wish she could just die from the traps, but clearly they have already been triggered. He gazed morosely at the loose tripwire and dart embedded in the door. Other methods are so...messy.” Zevran looked at his daggers sadly. “Ah, well, I suppose I will have to make do.”

The Warden could only stare in half amused, half furious astonishment as his elven lover tied his disheveled hair back and reached down to adjust himself in his breeches, not bothering to put a shirt back on. Then, with the stealthy grace of a trained assassin, he silently padded over to the door and opened it in a swift movement. The Warden could see the outline of a person in the doorway.

_ “Hola,” _ the woman at the door began. “M–”

Whatever words she was about to speak were cut off by the lightning-quick movement of Zevran’s dark shadow, clapping a hand to her mouth and plunging a dagger through her chest all in the space of a breath. She sagged to the ground like a limp marionette, and Zevran quickly closed the door behind her and dragged her corpse further into the room. The Warden could only imagine the number of similar assassinations his lover had committed in order to lend him such practiced ease. For now, he simply gaped at the scene before him, still half reclined on the bed.

“What…” the Warden began. “Are you serious? Never mind, of course you're serious, you...oh Maker.” The Warden flopped backwards onto the bed and covered his face with his hands in exasperation. “Nothing with you is ever normal, is it,” he stated.

“Hm?” Zevran asked absentmindedly, not glancing up as he searched the woman’s pockets with deft fingers.

“All I wanted was one normal, romantic evening before we returned to madness. Is that really too much to ask?” the Warden lamented. This caused Zevran to glance up and raise an eyebrow.

“Normal?” he asked. “You, my dear, are a grey warden nobleman who slayed an arch demon and is only with me now because I was too pretty to kill after I attempted to assassinate you. I don't know if  _ normal  _ is quite compatible.” He returned to rooting through the corpse’s pockets before continuing, “And moreover, I would have gotten this killing business all sorted out in time for your arrival if you had just given me some warning—aha, here it is!” 

Zevran cut himself off as he pulled out the object he was searching for and fixed it with a jaunty grin. It appeared to be a medallion of sorts, made of yellowing bone.

“What's that?” the Warden asked, although he was sure he didn't want to know the answer.

“This,  _ mi amor?”  _ Zevran gazed gleefully at the medallion with mad assassin’s lust in his eyes. “This, my dear, is called  _ winning.” _

The Warden raised his eyebrows at the vague choice of phrase, but Zevran paid no notice and continued, “The unfortunate beauty you see lying here is part of a dangerous organization of murderers and cutthroats, a threat to the Crows and to the city itself. I suspected this one was the leader, so I simply invited her over to assassinate her. This trinket–” he twirled the medallion and held it up to the light– “is proof that she is the one.” Zevran glanced down at the corpse with a small frown. “Hm. I had imagined killing her to be...more entertaining.” 

The Warden stared in disbelief at Zevran’s evident sadness at having a boring victim. “So...you're saying you invited a woman to your home and set traps for her without knowing whether she was innocent or guilty?” the Warden asked. Zevran looked up sharply. “You could have killed an innocent woman! Or me, for that matter!”

Zevran’s face clouded in thought. “I hadn't considered that.”

“Clearly.”

Zevran thought for another moment before shrugging and pocketing the medallion. “Well, I was fairly certain it was her. My intuition rarely lies.”

“Your–oh Maker, there's no use, you're hopeless.” The Warden put his face in his hands as if doing so could erase the motionless corpse leaving a bloody stain in front of his lover’s bed. After a moment of grief, he clapped his hands together and swung his legs off the bed, coming to stand by Zevran and observe the corpse. He gave it a little nudge with his boot. “I imagine you have a place in mind to dispose of the body, since you're clearly a master of well-planned ambushes?” the Warden questioned. The elf’s answering silence spoke everything the Warden needed to hear. He sighed. “I didn't think so.”

The two stood side by side, watching the blood slowly seep out of the body before Zevran said, “There’s always the window?”

“The window,” the Warden stated flatly. Zevran nodded. “You want to get rid of the body by pushing it out the window.”

“Defenestration is all the rage these days,” Zevran said with twitching lips.

“Defene– _ Maker, _ how did I ever fall in love with such a  _ ridiculous, insane, utterly–” _

_ “ _ Poetry,” Zevran interrupted, smirking under the Warden’s incredulous gaze. “The language of love. You fell in love with my poet’s  _ mind  _ and, and firm  _ behind  _ and– _ mierda _ , I'll stop, don't chase me, I–” 

His words trailed off into clear peals of laughter as he leapt around the room with the laughing Warden in pursuit behind him.

“You can't catch me in this game, Warden,” Zevran shouted gleefully while leaping onto the rickety bed. “I have a rogue’s grace _ – _ you only have a clumsy mace!”

“I have a greatsword, you idiot!” the Warden yelled back, grabbing for the elf.

“A true disgrace!” Zevran retorted, twisting away from the Warden’s hands before running to the wall and allowing himself to be caught. The Warden pushed the elf’s slighter figure against the wall and slammed his hands on both sides of Zevran’s head, trapping him there. They laughed breathlessly, exchanging hot exhalations of breath and reveling in the other’s presence. 

“Six months,” the Warden whispered, mirth still dancing in his eyes, but more serious now. Zevran sobered up as well and nodded, entwining his hands on the larger man’s back to pull their bodies closer together. The Warden stared seriously into the elf’s golden eyes, the eyes that once flitted away whenever anything got remotely emotional. Now, they held his gaze, pools of molten-gold, and a portal into the depths of the man the Warden held so dear.

“I love you,” the Warden murmured quietly. Zevran’s eyes widened in response, but didn't break the gaze. “Maker knows why, but I do.” He then brought his head to rest in the crook of Zevran’s neck, inhaling the comforting scent of his lover. Zevran didn't reply–the Warden was aware of his limits–but the elf squeezed his arms tighter around the Warden, which was all the response he needed. Six months apart, full of only darkspawn blood and pain. Six months with only the memory of Zevran’s lithe arms embracing him to keep him warm in his cold tent. And now, with nothing but the future ahead of them, the Warden didn't know quite what to do. So he ignored thoughts of the future, ignored the corpse lying on the floor behind him, and simply embraced the man he couldn't live without. And after after a long while, he felt the words, quiet as the sheathing of a dagger, whispered with soft lips into his ear:

“As do I, mi amor.”


End file.
